


anytime I want to sing, I sing (in ways you best understand)

by ashers_kiss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (I kinda feel like the character tags are misleading), (it's a DRABBLE so it's not like there's a lot of them but they have lines so), Alcohol, Bucky/Nat Week, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, I actually wrote fluff!, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3918955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you know,” Steve says, face flushed a pretty pink from Asgardian mead, “that <i>Bucky</i> was a choir boy?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	anytime I want to sing, I sing (in ways you best understand)

**Author's Note:**

> [yeleenabelovaa](http://yeleenabelovaa.tumblr.com/) prompted me with "singing" for Bucky/Nat Week. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to get it done during the actual week; turns out I had more college work to do than I'd thought.
> 
> Ended up being a bit more domestic!Avengers with a little bit of Nat/Bucky, and the tiniest little bit of nsfw at the end. Content warnings for alcohol consumption.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://dark-siren.tumblr.com/post/115763230869/buckynat-week-prompt-singing).
> 
> Title from [a poem by Shira E](http://shirae.com/post/69457454410/take-my-secret-the-desire-to-have-courage-is) (with a small addition).

“Did you know,” Steve says, face flushed a pretty pink from Asgardian mead, and Natasha – somewhat relaxed after her own sample – thinks this is going to be _glorious_ , judging by the size of Steve’s smile. “That _Bucky_ was a choir boy?”

Natasha was right. (She so very often is; it’s rarely so pleasant an experience.)

“Oh, fuck you,” James says, while Sam and Tony cackle in the background, and Steve’s grin grows stupidly big and bright. He’s forgone the mead, sticking to Tony’s imported beers, but there’s something looser about him, in his face and the line of his shoulders.

(Sometimes, Natasha lets her eyes trail over the long length of his legs, stretched out in front of him. Sometimes, James notices, and when she looks up, there’s an edge to the curve of his smile.)

Steve’s still talking – something about, “Voice of an angel, Sister Marguerite always said,” and then Clint’s hollering, “Oh, oh, karaoke!” from the other side of the room.

“Hell no,” James calls back. There’s something like laughter lurking in his voice, under the warning, and Natasha can _hear_ Clint pouting. Someone’s going to find themselves giving in to him. (It won’t be her; she’s not had anywhere _near_ enough to drink to join in Clint’s antics, not in front of the others.)

She’s letting James catch her eye when Tony lurches to his feet. “I’m gonna – ” He waves vaguely in Clint’s direction, and Clint whoops. He’s like a _child_ , Natasha thinks, and blames the mead for how fond it sounds even in her own head. “Go do my duty as a host, or something. Defend my honour.”

There’s a snort from the overly plush, oversized card table in the corner, and when Natasha looks over, Jane has her head buried in her arms, shoulders shaking. Thor’s grin is, if possible, even bigger than Steve’s. “Tony,” he says, completely steady and unaffected by the drink he’s been plying everyone else with all night, “we have _all_ seen what is left of your honour, my friend.”

Tony sputters, yelling for Bruce and Rhodey to stop hiding in the kitchen and help him out here, and Steve blushes bright, fast red, which is _hilarious_.

It also provides enough distraction for Natasha to slip away, easing her way through corridors that are, for once, quiet; James catches up with her a few minutes later, and she lets him back them up until her back is against a wall.

“How much of that stuff did you drink, exactly?” he asks, head tilted down to hers.

Natasha lets her mouth curl, lifts her head until her lips brush over his as she speaks. “Not as much as they think I did.”

This time, he does laugh, a short huff of sound that warms her in places the mead could never reach. “Have I mentioned I love you?”

“Mmm.” She all but hums it into his mouth, slides her hands to his hips and relishes the catch of his breath. “Feel free to say it again.”

She swallows his laugh, this time, keeps it safe and secret between them, and does the same again, later, with other, more desperate noises as she rides him, his hands curled around the small of her back and her fingers tight in his hair.


End file.
